


Rescue Me (or take me in your arms)

by BrilliantlyHorrid



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson as a damsel in distress, F/M, Fluff, Phil being a cheeky bastard, Skye is a superhero, Skye is the most beautiful thing Coulson has ever seen (canon), Superhero Suits, Wardrobe is important, We're all a little in love with Skye, dorks flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3696938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantlyHorrid/pseuds/BrilliantlyHorrid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Skye saves Coulson, who decides if he's going to be rescued, the person doing the rescuing might as well have a great outfit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rescue Me (or take me in your arms)

**Author's Note:**

> Getting this out the door as I'm sure it will be jossed within the day. That's the thing about hiatus writing: you don't have to changes things every week because of major plot updates. Title is from "Rescue Me" by Aretha Franklin.

“At least they didn’t blindfold us,” Coulson muttered quietly to May, who shot him an annoyed glare. Giving up on levity Coulson looked over to Fitz and Simmons, who seemed to be handling their kidnapping surprisingly well. Next to him, he felt May’s arms begin to move, trying to remove the restraints around her wrists. Coulson felt his own digging into his skin as he looked around the back of the van for possible weapons. From the other side of the grate, the two Hydra operatives were silent.

It was an ambush, of course, on what had promised to be a routine mission. _But really, what is routine anymore?_ Pressing an ear against the side of the van, Phil tried to see if he could hear the other vehicles nearby. If it was just them against these two, he was sure they could take them on. _But if the others are following…_ He grimaced. That would be more difficult.

“Sir, is your head alright?” Simmons asked quietly, and Coulson gave her a reassuring nod.

“It’s fine,” he replied, feeling the blood begin to dry on his temple. “I’m not a huge fan of getting punched in the face, though.” Simmons shot him a strained smile, looking worried.

“Then maybe you should stop mocking anyone who might decide to hit you,” May retorted, twisting her arm a bit. Conceding the point, Coulson tested his own bonds, hoping that no dislocations of any sort would be necessary. At his age, he wasn’t sure everything would pop right into place anymore.

A loud rumbling startled everyone, followed by a deafening crack outside. The Hydra agents cursed and slammed on the brakes, knocking the four SHIELD agents over.

“What the hell was that?” Readying their weapons, both Hydra agents stepped out of the van.

The sounds were muffled slightly, but Coulson urged everyone to remain still until they knew what was happening. There were yells, more crashing noises and a mix of physical blows and gunshots. Rolling himself upright, Coulson saw May pull herself into a standing position, still pulling at her wrists.

“Friendlies?” May asked him, and Coulson shrugged, unsure.

“Could Bobbi and Hunter have found us that quickly?” He asked doubtfully, hearing the altercation outside begin to quiet down. There was a rush of metallic sounds Coulson knew well at that point. _They’re disassembling the guns_ , he thought. _That could be a good sign. Maybe._ Hearing someone approach the van, Coulson saw Fitz and Simmons clumsily pull themselves into a sitting position, looking concerned. The back doors to the van were quickly opened, and Coulson squinted against the bright sunlight flooding in.

“Can’t say you were what I was expecting.” In the doorway stood a young man in a leather jacket, wearing a friendly --if cheeky-- smile.

“Who the hell are you?” May asked, reading Coulson’s mind. He clearly wasn’t SHIELD.

_Maybe an independent group targeting Hydra?_

Holding out his hand then withdrawing it, looking sheepish, the young man waved. “Found them,” he called out, and Coulson saw May readying herself to attack. She had won in worse conditions, but for his part Coulson was worried about the completely helpless Fitz and Simmons.

“Good,” a woman responded, walking over to the vehicle. Simmons gasped. Peering into the van, Skye quirked her mouth in a smile. “Kinda like deja vu, huh AC?” She frowned, thinking it over. “Except reversed, I guess.”

“Skye.”

Watching her climb into the van to remove May’s bonds first, Coulson looked Skye over, still a bit stunned. She had made contact after the other ‘SHIELD’ had run her out of the safe house, telling him one of ‘her kind’ had rescued her. The same man who mysteriously whisked away Cal, she had told him, but didn’t have time to elaborate. She was safe, Skye had reassured him, and that thought kept him from completely losing his cool. There was work to be done, after all. A lot of work.

He did manage to see her, once. Considering the circumstances of her departure -- _I left her alone_ , was all he could think for days until she finally reached out-- he wanted to give her a little something. An apology gift, sure, but also hopefully motivation for her to return. ‘ _Eventually_ ,’ he’d told her, smiling slightly. It had been a strange meeting, sure. But also not, because things with Skye rarely felt truly odd. They didn’t hug for once, something he alternately regretted and didn’t regret over the following months. Something about the mood, the circumstances...a hug would have felt too much like goodbye. And they’d had too many of those.

Instead, as if acting of its own volition, his hand combed through her hair gently, just once. He saw her eyes widen for a moment before he turned to leave, calling out that he would see her soon over his shoulder.

And now she was here in the middle of the desert, dusty and wearing ripped jeans and looking like something out of _Red Dawn_.

After freeing Fitz and Simmons (the latter of whom wordlessly pulled Skye into a fierce hug,) Skye approached him. “Can I give you a hand?” She asked, almost nervous. Coulson just nodded as she reached behind him, with a pocket knife, removing his bonds. As his hands were freed he gave in to the sudden bizarre urge to grab her wrist, still behind his back. She looked at him curiously, all tanned face and messy hair, and Coulson felt another strange urge that he immediately repressed.

“It’s good to see you,” he told her, clearing his throat and releasing his hold on her. He rubbed his wrists, agitated, wondering what the hell he just did. Skye simply smiled at him kindly, holding a hand out to help him stand up. He took it.

Climbing out of the van, Coulson took his eyes off Skye long enough to examine their surroundings. A couple others dressed similarly to Skye and the young man were tying up the Hydra agents from their van, and from the other two vehicles. _They_ were _following us_ , Coulson confirmed. It was a good thing they (apparently) had backup. Walking out to the front of the van, Coulson saw what had caused the Hydra agents to stop: a giant crack in the ground, not very wide, but stretching at least 50 yards across the car’s path.

Turning to look at Skye, Coulson saw her look a little nervous at the team witnessing her handiwork.

“Thank you,” he told her earnestly, and Skye waved it away.

“It’s nothing,” she told him, to which Coulson scoffed.

“Nothing? Skye--”

“You should listen to her,” the young man from earlier interrupted, earning a scowl from Skye. “What? You missed one,” he told her, dangling a gun from his thumb and forefinger. “Found it on that guy’s ankle. If he wasn’t knocked out--”

Skye raised her hand, and the weapon immediately fell apart, safely disassembling and dropping to the ground in pieces. “Happy?” She asked, eyebrow raised. He shrugged, moving on to help restrain the remaining agents.

“Skye, that is remarkable,” Simmons said quietly, getting a proud but hesitant smile in return. The two of them shared a look, and Coulson hoped they would have a good long talk after this. Clearing her throat, Simmons gestured to Skye’s comrades. “Who…?”

“Oh!” Skye hit herself on the forehead. “Yeah, this is Lincoln, Eddie and Savannah,” she pointed out each person in turn, and the blonde one ( _Lincoln_ ) waved. “They’re...like me,” Skye said, shrugging.

“How are- how’s your control coming along?” Fitz asked, still staring at the pieces of the gun on the ground. “Good, I imagine?” Skye nodded, grinning. Coulson felt an ache in his chest at how much he had missed that look on her face.

_And her face. In general_ , an annoying voice in his head added.

“So you’re ready to stop messing around and come home?” May asked, monotone, and everyone seemed to hold their breath.

“Yeah, I think so,” Skye said, looking over at Coulson, of all people. “Hey Lincoln,” she called out, and the blonde, tall, _okay, really tall_ guy came over. “I’m going to go back with my team,” she told him, and he looked disappointed.

“Damn. I guess that means you’re taking the corvette with you?”

Phil could feel May and FitzSimmons staring at him out of the corner of his eye, but he just looked at Skye, raising an eyebrow.

“What? I didn’t let him drive her,” she told him emphatically, and Lincoln sighed.

“Drive her? Hell, she wouldn’t even let me touch her.”

Simmons’ cheeks reddened, and Fitz’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but Coulson just felt a smug smile creep up on his own face. “Are we going now?”

-

Driving through the desert with the top up, Coulson listened to Lola purr. He sighed. “I missed you,” he said, running his hand over the steering wheel.

“If you guys want a moment alone I can ride with May,” Skye offered, looking over at him from the passenger side. The team was headed back to the Bus, after one last stop at Lincoln and co.’s makeshift base. Grabbing her simple rucksack, Skye had headed toward the SUV, but May waved her away. She looked confused, until Coulson pulled up next to her in Lola. Phil smirked to himself. That had been a great entrance.

He shook his head now, smiling. “So what’s with the getup?” Coulson asked, looking over at her dusty military jacket and torn jeans. Skye made a face.

“Wardrobe wasn’t exactly our first priority,” she teased, tugging at the sleeve of his suit. Coulson felt a warmth flood over him, originating at the spot where her hand had grabbed him. He thought back to that crazy impulse he’d had in the van. Sitting here, alone together, it somehow didn’t feel as crazy.

_Later_ , he told himself.

“Sometimes a good wardrobe can make a difference,” he told her, and she laughed. “I helped design Captain America’s uniform, you know,” he said nonchalantly, and Skye’s head whipped around to face him.

“Really?”

“Really.”

***

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Coulson groaned. Standing above him, Cal chuckled.

“You know, you’re a funny guy,” he told Phil, nudging him with his shoe. “When you’re not pissing me off.”

Unfortunately, Coulson had not learned how to _avoid_ pissing the other man off. At this point, he had to assume that his mere existence was enough.

_That doesn’t bode well for this conversation_. Hearing Cal’s footsteps move further away, Coulson tried to assess the damage. He wasn’t nearly as battered as his first confrontation with Cal, or his second, for that matter, but his back and chest ached and it felt like he had opened the ever-present cut over his eyebrow.

_You’d think that would at least be scar tissue by now._ Peering up at Cal from across the room, Coulson grew concerned. The man was fluctuating between seemingly calm and manic at a rate he wasn’t entirely sure wasn’t schizophrenic. He was drenched in sweat, despite the chill in the house, and his eyes--they were the worst part. In a way, they were so familiar. Skye’s own eyes echoed some of the same depth and spark, but on Cal it was frightening. He was a man constantly on the brink of losing control, and Phil wondered if this would be the encounter where the final push occurred.

He really hoped not. _Things had been going so well._

“I’ve gotta tell you, Mr. Coulson, you are one hard guy to kill.” Cal backed into a work table across the room, hopping up and crossing one leg over the other. His socks had a flower print. “I feel like every time I take a step forward? Two steps back.”

Coulson dragged himself next to the far wall, using it to move into a sitting position. Warily, he watched Cal fiddling with something in his hands. A pen?

“You could stop. Trying to kill me, that is,” Coulson said, his face not reflecting the humor in his voice. “There’s no reason we have to--”

“No reason?” Cal interrupted, dangerously quiet.

Coulson swallowed heavily.

“Your agency destroyed my life, you killed the man I spent years dreaming of tearing into pieces,” his voice grew louder as he stood, beginning to cross the room again. “And you refuse to stop taking my baby girl away from me.”

“Skye decides where she goes,” Phil said defiantly, wiping the blood from his brow. “If you stopped trying to kill people she cares about, she might--”

“Shut up!” Cal yelled, and Coulson went silent. He stared up at the other man though, determined not to look afraid. “She should care about her family. You’re not her family, not her real one. And yet you constantly undermine me, assert yourself into the position that should be mine.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Coulson said, shaking his head. “You’re her father, believe me, we’re all aware of that.”

“Then why? Why, does she go to you, of all people, and not me?” he snarled, looking down at the bloodied SHIELD director. “And why is every other word out of your mouth about her?”

Phil set his jaw. The sentiment was rich, coming from Cal, considering his well documented obsession with reuniting with Skye. Regardless of the circumstances, regardless of her wishes. “Both of us care about your daughter,” he said, trying to keep a level voice that wouldn’t set him off. “But I’m _not_ trying to replace you,” he looked Cal in the eye there, trying to get his point across.

“So, what?” Cal knelt down then, maintaining eye contact. He smiled with a dark joviality. “What, are you in love with her? Do you have a schoolboy crush? Because I gotta tell you Phil,” he said, watching shiny object twirl between his fingers. “That just might be worse.”

Coulson stared at him, trying to translate what Cal just said into something that made sense. _Am I what? I can’t…_

He thought about Skye.

About the way he felt when she came back, the warmth in his chest.

Their chats in his office at the Playground, about missions, the team, and, when he could get her to hear him out, his designs for possible outfits. ‘ _Tactical gear,_ ’ he always insisted, trying not to smile despite her raised brows and wide grin. ‘ _You wear too much black on the field,_ ’ he had said defensively as she stared at his sketches. ‘ _I thought we’d want something a little less dull_.’ Apparently it wasn’t what she had expected, citing examples like Romanoff and May and Maria Hill.

‘ _Not something more covert?_ ’ She had asked incredulously, staring at his most recent mock up. He looked at it curiously. He liked that one. He tried to spend more time looking at the outfit itself, not the way he had clearly put way too much detail into her face and hair and expression. Coulson wondered if she noticed.

‘ _I just thought the color_ suited _you_ ,’ he’d told her, shrugging, ‘ _no pun intended_.’

‘ _Pun completely intended_ ,’ she had scoffed, but tilted the page more toward her. She hummed thoughtfully. ‘ _You know_ ,’ her bright eyes had looked up at him then. ‘ _It’s growing on me.’_

Phil looked at Cal. He’d been silent for entirely too long, and had a sneaking suspicion that everything that had been crossing his mind in those past moments was written all over his face. The director couldn’t help it. He gulped.

Cal watched him and actually smiled. He was amused.

Until he wasn’t.

“Oh Phil,” he sighed, shaking his head and looking down at his hands. It was a scalpel, Cal was holding, not a pen. His eyes turned cold, a far cry from his daughter’s warm stare. Phil wondered if this was the closest he’d get to seeing those eyes one last time. Then the front door to the dilapidated house burst open, and Skye was there, gun trained at her father.

“Stand up,” she ordered, and Coulson saw the other man’s disappointment. Giving him one last ugly look, Cal stood.

“Daisy,” he greeted her, summoning that deranged smile of his as he looked at the barrel of his daughter’s gun. “Phil and I were just getting to know each other.” Skye just stared him down, not moving her weapon from it’s position, not taking her eyes off of him.

“You guys on a first name basis now?” She asked, looking Coulson over quickly, clearly for injuries. Cal watched, a grim set to his mouth.

“I don’t like him very much,” Cal said shrugging. He tossed his scalpel into the industrial sink behind him. His eyes looked over Skye, with a mix of pride, sadness and even hope that reminded Coulson why he had wished Skye and Cal could work something out, something that would be good for both of them. “But,” Cal said, looking as resigned as Coulson had ever seen him, “I can try to respect your choices, Da--. Skye.”

Skye’s eyebrows shot up behind her bangs.

“I’m sorry, what now?”

Cal leveled his stare at Coulson, who was attempting to stand.

“I still might try to kill him,” Cal said, so bluntly and earnestly it was almost comical.

Phil believed him.

-

“What the hell happened there?” Skye was standing in front of Coulson’s desk, arms crossed. May had just left after a very stern few sentences about how irresponsible he had been lately. Typically she didn’t address the Director in such a way in front of Skye, but Coulson supposed the situation with Skye’s father warranted it.

“I’m not sure,” he told her, which wasn’t a complete lie. He was still coming to terms with whatever had happened in that room. “One minute he’s about to kill me, the next?” He shrugged. “He’s just _considering_ killing me. At some ambiguous point down the line.”

Skye didn’t look amused, staring at that damned spot on his forehead.

“Why does he want to kill you so much?” Her voice was angry, but also sad in a way that nearly broke Coulson’s heart. She felt guilty.

“It doesn’t matter, Skye,” he began, but she held up a hand.

“Like hell it doesn’t. We talked about Whitehall, he saw me at Afterlife when I learned about my ‘gift.’” She still did the little airquotes around “gift,” and Coulson knew that despite her control over her abilities, they had taken too much from her to truly be considered a gift. She looked up at the ceiling, before meeting Coulson’s eyes again. “Why does he still want to hurt you?”

Coulson felt a twist in his gut, wishing they could just maybe gloss over the fact that Skye’s dad wanted him dead, and not think about the reasons why that may be. But he couldn’t, because if he did, Skye would continue thinking there was something she needed to make right, or fix. _When really._..

“He still thinks I’m trying to...take you away from him,” Coulson said quietly, knowing full well how vague he was being. Skye frowned. He sighed.

“Because you’re SHIELD? We’ve told him, dozens of times, it was Hydra who--”

“Not SHIELD, me. Personally.” He watched her face carefully, trying to figure out if he should stop talking or keep going. Skye seemed honestly confused, so it looked like he’d need to keep going. Phil ran a hand over his forehead. “Your father had been under the impression that I’m trying to replace him. Since we discovered his little hideout.”

Skye’s brow furrowed as she recalled the day he was talking about. “And, when you saw him in Australia?” Phil nodded.

“That was the first time he...expressed his frustration about it,” he said lamely, wondering how deep into this they’d have to go. Wondering what she thought of Cal thinking Coulson was trying to be her father. “He’s mentioned it a few times,” he admitted, wincing when he saw Skye’s eyes flash with anger.

“And you didn’t think it was relevant enough to tell me?” She asked, dangerously quiet.

“No?” Coulson said meekly, and Skye let out a groan of frustration.

“Coulson. If my dad tells you why he keeps trying to _murder_ you, maybe share that information,” she said, placing her hands on his desk. Coulson felt a soft vibration pulse through the desk, and judging by the adamant look on her face, he guessed it was for emphasis, rather than a sign of losing control. (Which was great, but also kind of annoying.)

“I didn’t think there was anything more to do,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I told him repeatedly that wasn’t the case, didn’t seem to be getting through.” He spoke casually but watched her face to see what he’d find there. Disappointment? Relief? Nothing?

Her carefully schooled expression gave nothing away ( _Damn tai chi_ ,) but she simply nodded.

“I see,” she said coolly, and Coulson winced. “What changed today?” Standing upright again, Skye began to pace around the office. “He just gave up, and I didn’t even have to do anything. What changed?”

Phil needlessly began straightening papers on his desk, Skye’s agitation contagious. “Looks like it finally got through,” he said, not needing to look to know she was probably shaking her head. “Skye, I can’t begin to understand what’s going on in your father’s mind.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

Coulson’s head shot up. “Excuse me?” He would be the first to admit that they had long ditched most of the formalities of him being her boss, but this was...unexpected.

“You heard me,” Skye said, not backing down. “We agreed to be honest with each other and last I checked, I’ve been holding up my end of the bargain.”

Coulson sat back in his chair, feeling petulant. “And I haven’t?” Wrong question. Skye’s eyes flashed.

“You’re honest eventually, when I pull it out of you,” she told him, and he winced. “But you need to let go of this stupid idea that you’re somehow protecting me by omitting things I have a right to know.”

Phil sighed, running a hand over his face. “You’re right,” he told her, “you’re exactly right. Of course you are,” he said ruefully. Looking up at Skye, Coulson saw the anger and hurt in her face, and knew that he just couldn’t continue being the cause of it. “I wasn’t lying when I said I can’t understand your father, or why exactly he decided not to attack me,” he said, and held up a hand when he saw Skye about to protest. “Hold on.”

Looking over at the door, Coulson found himself wondering not only if anyone was outside of it, but how fast he could get to it if he chose to run away. He wouldn’t run, of course, he was a grown man, but he was curious. He looked back to Skye, who was waiting somewhat patiently in front of his desk.

“I can only assume that your father thinks I’m not trying to replace him anymore because he suspects that I’m in love with you.” He’d said it. Sort of. Watching Skye, he could practically see her processing what he’d just told her. “So while that may still be a death-worthy offense, I suppose him walking away means that the threat of being shoved aside isn’t as...immediate.”

Skye stared him down, and Coulson thought that maybe running out the door wasn’t a crazy response after all. Was he beginning to sweat?

“That’s some fancy bureaucrat-speak there, Director.”

Phil sighed. She wasn’t wrong, but she had to understand his hesitation on some level, right? Did she really need him to come out and say it? After all, he was still figuring it out himself. What if he spoke too soon, and that wasn’t how he felt about Skye? _Yeah, that’s not likely_ , Coulson thought, looking at the woman across from him.

“Is there any weight to that suspicion?” Skye asked quietly, sitting in the chair in front of his desk.

“Some,” Coulson conceded, watching her carefully. “It hadn’t really crossed my mind,” he admitted, feeling far too exposed, but determined to see this conversation through. Skye nodded, not quite looking at him anymore. “But now that he said it, I can’t seem to get it out of my head.”

“Like he made you doubt yourself?”

“Like suddenly everything makes more sense,” Coulson countered, wanting to be clear. “To be honest, it was probably the most reasonable thing your father’s said,” he joked.

Across the desk, Skye’s eyes widened.

***

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” Coulson remarked, earning a punch in the face. “I guess I do kind of bring that on myself, don’t I?” He ground his jaw against the slight pain, wincing. As far as he could see it, May was right about two things: placing himself out in the field as Director of SHIELD led to more trouble than it was probably worth, and he had a habit of pissing off punch-happy bad guys. He couldn’t help it. It was his nature.

Looking around the dank basement, he wondered how long it would take the team to get there. In the corner, two Hydra agents conversed quietly while the third stood in front of him, still as a statue. Phil was going to make a bodyguard joke, but this was Sir Hits-A-Lot, so he decided not to risk it.

“They’re going to be here any minute,” he said instead, and was rewarded with another punch. Tasting copper, he frowned. Then, a flicker in the corner of the room caught his eye. There was a small puddle on the floor, and in it, ripples had slowly begun to form. Phil smiled. “You’re really going to regret that,” he said smugly, and the Hydra operative snorted.

“Why’s that?” At the sound of a glass breaking he jumped slightly, looking to the other two agents who were now watching items slowly begin to vibrate and fall to the floor. Beginning with a low rumble, the whole room began to shake.

“Because you hit my face,” Coulson said, shrugging. “And she really likes my face.”

Right on cue the door to the room flew off its hinges, taking out a Hydra lackey on the way. Through the door walked the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. _I was right about the color_ , he thought, happy to watch Skye play the role of the 'white knight' yet again. Waving a hand, she tossed a second agent across the room, simultaneously breaking down the gun the third had trained on her. Coulson craned his neck to watch the Hydra operative run out the door, only to fall into a crack in the floor that suddenly opened up. Turning back to Coulson, Skye frowned. 

"What did they do to your face?"

Coulson sighed as her gloved hands rested on his cheeks while she inspected the damage. 

"I told them, it would make you angry," he said, and Skye chuckled.

"And they wouldn't like me when I'm angry?" 

Coulson winced at the comparison. "That's not--" Skye silenced him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. 

"I know, stupid." Standing back, she did a quick spin. "What do you think?" 

Feeling the warmth pool in his belly, Coulson cleared his throat. "Do another turn, I didn't see it?" He asked, and Skye laughed, obliging. This time she went slower, and he was able to see everything. Watching the suit in action had been, -- _W_ _ell..._  but he hadn't had the time to get a good look. The off-white material wasn't too ostentatious he thought, but definitely brighter than the usual black or navy. It really was a good color for her, appropriately sunny and unique. Coulson was glad she agreed, on paper it did run the risk of being a little too flashy, but finally seeing it in person showed that it was actually perfect. He _had_ done a few drafts in red that never saw the light of day, though Fitz unfortunately discovered one. He had been showing the Director a prototype defense system that emerged from a small metal box, for easy storage, when the box suddenly exploded. It scattered metal and papers across the floor, and the scientist was quick to offer to clean up so Coulson let him. But then he found one of the more...risque sketches Phil had drawn up one night after one too many glasses of scotch and things got a bit awkward. 

So yeah. While Skye in a red jumpsuit had been tempting, it was better for everyone if they avoided that. 

_Besides, the white is just fine as-is,_ he thought, as Skye finally completed her turn. She raised an eyebrow. 

"So. Thoughts?" 

"Untie my hands and I can show you," he told her quietly, and she laughed at him again. He tried not to pout. 

"Smooth," she commented, but walked over to him all the same. Smiling, she stood directly in front of him, stepping into the space between his legs. Leaning over him, she slowly reached with both arms behind his back, resting her head on his shoulder and pressing her chest against his. Her hands ran down his arms at an unnecessarily slow pace, but Phil wasn't complaining. Feeling her breath against his neck, he tried not to make any pathetic noises. It was a pointless exercise, though. She already knew all of his pathetic noises. 

Then, with a lightning quick buzzing feeling, his restraints fell apart. Sighing as his wrists were freed, Coulson reached both arms behind Skye's back as she moved to pull away. Pulling her gently until she was straddling his lap, he kissed her. They had been doing this whole thing for about a month, but he wondered if the thrill would ever really wear off.  _Not while she keeps throwing Hydra agents around dressed like this,_  Phil thought, growling a little as Skye bit his lip. She pulled away, kissing him above his brow before sitting back fully. 

"You know we should probably let the others know you're alive now, right?" She asked, running a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. Phil lazily stroked his hands up and down her back, before finally giving up on pretenses and sliding them down to her ass. Skye's eyebrows shot up. 

"I'm checking for faulty craftsmanship," Coulson told her innocently, and she snorted. 

"With the suit or with me?" Skye asked, tossing her head and letting her ponytail _accidentally_ swat him in the face. 

It was Coulson's turn to scoff now. "The suit, clearly," he told her, "You're perfect." Skye shook her head at him amused.

"I don't know, from what I've heard, the guy who made the suit put a lot of work into it." She stood, and Phil groaned before remembering he wasn't bound to the chair anymore. Sheepishly, he followed her, stretching his back a bit. "It's not like he would let his girlfriend run around in a suit that was going to split down the middle or be like, a tear-away." 

"No," Coulson said, narrowing his eyes. 

"Not like the red ones."

_Fitz._  

Coulson put a hand over his eyes, embarrassed. "Those... God. Fitz."

"Don't kill him, please?" Skye asked, her eyes sparkling a bit. "He was traumatized enough when he saw that he just gave me ideas." 

_Ideas?_

"Ideas?" Coulson asked, feeling his shame rapidly turning into something else.

Skye smiled benevolently. "Let's get out of here and we can talk about it."

Standing by the door, Coulson waved her through. "Lead the way."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so the uniform I ended up with was this one: http://marvel.wikia.com/Daisy_Johnson_(Earth-616)  
> The most common ones we see the comic character are black, but I really like the white. Especially since we like our white knight Skye coming to the rescue.   
> I started this forever ago, and realized that following the Lola comparisons my hinting at the color could be seen to lead to red, so I decided to play with that. No one could deal with Skye in a red jumpsuit.   
> LAST note, I totally forgot until way later that Jennifer Grey (Clark's lovely wife/awesome 80s actress) was in Red Dawn. Seriously. I had a laugh at that.   
> Anyway, hope you liikkke iit, and hope we're all excited to have collective Tuesday panic attacks.


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